He Showed Her the World : She Showed Him Her Heart
by Life-Drawing-Wizard
Summary: Scotland x Fem!Iceland Can someone spell 'crack pairing? Rated T for mouth
1. Meeting

A/N: _What is this? Why are you starting a new story and not working on_ Where School Sucks _(advertising)? _

_Well, I was watching Brave for the first time and thinking just how friggin amazing Scotland is and why the hell have I not gone there yet (I digress) and then I was saddened that I didn't write about Scotland much because I don't pair him with anyone and then..._

_I was thinking about the other country that I adore that I don't ship with anyone AKA Iceland and then..._

_I thought 'Hey didn't Erik the Red discover Iceland? Wasn't he Scottish?'_

_(I was wrong, by the way. Erik the Red was _Norwegien..._little bastard...messing up me remembering things from history class four years ago...)_

_But, as we all know, it's not called AcurateHistoryFiction it's called FanFiction and therby..._

_PLAUSIBLE EXCUSE FOR PAIRING!_

_-bowing- thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week!_

_And so you get...this. _

_It was going to be a one shot but I decided to break it up because it was getting pretty long and jazz so I'll be doing the same thing that I did with _Gender Confused _(advertising)._

_Please excuse me for any historical inaccuracies. I'm only a high school student and Google can only do so much for me -runs to hide in hermit hole-._

_Oh! And I don't own Hetalia. Shame..._

**Warning: Genderbending** **Ahead**

* * *

The night was dark, no moon, water black as pitch.

But there was a disruption in this perfect blackness: torches.

Dozens of them, lining the shore.

Boats slid towards the distant lights, silently cutting through the watery mass.

"Do you think they'll put up a good fight?"

One of the men on the boats grinned at his partner, crooked teeth turning the grin into a snarl, "Dunno, do I? 'S why we're here, conquering new land!"

"Then why do I got a bad feeling 'bout this?" the other asked.

"Cause you're an blithering bampot, y'are!"

"Shut it, lassies, 'fore I shut you up myself."

Both men stilled at the voice and turned to their captain.

Blazing red hair framing bright green eyes, chain mail glittering.

"We'll see how much of a fight they'll give us when we get there, aye?" the Captain asked, daring any of his crew to defy him.

None did.

It was like a silent countdown as the large wooden vessels slid up to the torch-lit shore.

_Tri…_

_Do…_

_Aon…_

Dozens of feet hit the rocky beach, no other sound heard.

The Scots advanced slowly, no weapons drawn (as ordered by their captain), but itching to do so. They were warriors and restraint wasn't in their nature.

More torches outlined a settlement, and a figure in front of it all.

Stark sliver hair, proud purple eyes, loose fitting clothes.

The warriors all looked to their captain. The kid couldn't have been more than seven years of age.

But the captain knew better.

"_Farðu burt_," the child said.

The captain stared at the child for a moment longer before motioning his men to follow.

They would stay there for the night and explore this new land, and the child, in the morning.

* * *

The captain woke before the rest of his men. Sneaking wasn't really a strong suit of his, but they all slept like the dead anyway so it wasn't that hard.

The redhead had always loved climbing cliffs in his own country so it was more for fun than anything when he scaled the one he had spotted the night before.

It was right as the redhead reached the top that the first gray of dawn peaked over the horizon, and the captain had to stop and gaze for a minute.

Green rolling hills interrupted by jutting cliffs and craggy rock, so similar to his own country that the captain had to do a double take to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

"_Ég sagði þér að komast út._"

The captain grinned lazily at the silver haired child that had come up behind him.

"Sorry, lass, I dun speak your language," he flicked some hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head.

"I told you to get out," the child translated, "And how did you know I was a girl?"

The redhead kneeled to be eye-level with the silver haired girl, "Cause I'm like you. People call me Alba, but me human name is Alistair."

The girl gave him a skeptical look, but replied, "My people call me Ísland, but _systir mín _calls me Frøya."

Before Alistair had introduced himself Frøya had seemed guarded, drastically so, but now she stared at him with open curiosity.

"Whot'cha wondering about, Little Freya?" Alistair asked.

Frøya blushed at the attention but blurted, "You're really like me? A country, I mean."

Alistair laughed and nodded, "Yep. In all me glory."

"Where are you?" she continued, then reconsidered, "Where is Alba?"

"Off thatta way a bit," Alistair pointed south, "More towards your sister an' brother, I'd say. I don't much care for them."

Frøya shivered, "_Bróðir_ scares me a little. He's nice and all but his ax…"

Alistair nodded in understanding.

He and that ax had history.

"You've got a beautiful country here, lass," Alistair smiled, "Reminds me of my own."

Frøya looked up at him excitedly, "I'd love to see your country some time."

Alistair smiled at the little girl, "Someday, I'll take ye, lass."

* * *

The Scotts left soon after that, the men disappointed that they didn't get to fight.


	2. He Came Back

A/N: _Lalalalalala~ Shortness~! Lalalalalala~ _

_Vikings brought sheep to Iceland. True story!_

**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

It wasn't for another three years that Alistair could escape to see his silver haired friend.

She met him at the shore, her hair had grown out more and blew in the wind.

"You came back!" she smiled.

The Scott laughed, "Course I did, lass!"

* * *

He stayed for a month that time, learning about her country and her language.

"So, tell me about your brothers," she said one time when they were laying in the grass.

Alistair rolled to look at her, "How'd you know I have brothers?"

"I guessed!" she exclaimed, "But you just confirmed it."

The redhead sighed in defeat and ruffled her hair.

"I got a younger brother, his people call 'im Cymru but we call him Dylan. He's real quiet and spends his time with his sheep when he ain't fighting," Alistair said.

"What're sheep?" Frøya asked, confused.

The redhead screwed up his face, trying to describe the animal, "They're like great, fuzzy dogs that don't do nothing but eat grass."

Seeing Frøya's puzzled expression, Alistair gave up, "I'll bring you some next time I come."

The silver haired girl smiled as her companion continued.

"And I got another little brother, but he's a real pain in the arse, he is," Alistair said, "Always complaining about France, strutting around like he owns the place."

"Sounds like _Bróðir_," Frøya sympathized.

Alistair laughed, "You got it hard, don't'cha, Freya?"

Frøya smiled at the way he mispronounced her name.


	3. Big Brother

A/N: _So, Iceland has lots of hot springs because they have lots of volcanoes (I've been using the report I did on Iceland two years ago for some random facts. THANK YOU SEVENTH GRADE GEOGRAPHY!) so my lovely little Icelander takes her Big Brother to one._

_In the first chapter I said that Norge calls Ice 'Frøya' cause that's the human nyo name I use for her (it sounds better than Erika in my opinion) and I looked up what it means. Apparently, 'Frøya' is the name of a(n) (group of?) island(s) off of Norway. Go figure. _

**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

"Where're you taking me?"

"C'mon, it'll be fun!"

Alistair was only there for two weeks this time and Frøya wanted to maximize their time together.

She was nearly to his elbow now, a fact that made the silver haired girl very happy, and Frøya was dragging him by the hand to one of her favorite spots.

"There," the Icelander said proudly, hands on her hips.

"All right, I give up," Alistair said finally, "What am I looking at?"

"Water!" Frøya exclaimed.

Alistair sighed and ruffled the shorter nation's hair.

"Well I got that, lass, but I figured you didn't drag me out here to look at water," he said.

Frøya smiled mischievously, "If you got that, then take off your shirt! We're going swimming!"

Alistair barely had time to wonder, "What do you mean 'take off me shirt'-?" before Frøya had dragged both of them into the steaming water.

"What the devil-!" Alistair exclaimed in surprise, "This water's hot!"

"Well, aye," Frøya rolled her eyes, imitating one of his phrases, "I didn't drag you over here just to stare."

"You're crazy lass," Alistair said simply, as if this statement resolved any doubt he'd had about his friend's sanity.

"Is this crazy?" and as Alistair opened his mouth to respond, a wave of hot water crashed over his head.

"Why you little-!"

Frøya was so busy laughing that she swallowed a mouth full of the returning water.

The sun was setting over the horizon by the time they left the hot spring, lying in the grass in their wet clothes.

"Alistair?" the silver haired girl asked quietly.

The Scott turned his head to look at the girl, "What's eating ya, lass?"

"…Can you be my _eldri bróðir_?" Frøya asked in a rush.

"Sure I can, lass," the redhead smiled, "And you can be my little sister."

Frøya smiled and curled up next to her big brother.

She fell asleep that way, and when people asked Alistair why he was slightly wet and carrying their country bridal style, he just smiled.


	4. Not as Warm

A/N: _So, I was looking up random things about Christmas in Scotland and Iceland alternately and I discovered that A) this person says that Christmas in Iceland is called Yule, but I couldn't find a date, so pretend for a minute it's on the same day and B) Scotland celebrates Christmas on the 25. _

_I feel really stupid in retrospect, and I apologize to anyone Scottish or Icelandic. But hey, it made another chapter/section/thingy!_

**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

"Yule."

"What?"

"Yule!"

"…You mean Christmas?"

Frøya stared at Alistair over her mug.

"What's Christmas?" she asked curiously.

"You know," Alistair waved his hands like Christmas would be conjured and explain itself, "When everyone gets together and feasts and drinks ale and does…dunno…family stuff?"

"You mean Yule?"

"_Christmas_."

"Whatever," Frøya shrugged, giving up on the argument, as she often did.

A thought seemed to occur to her as Alistair took another gulp of ale.

"If today is Christmas and Christmas is when you do 'family stuff'," she started, "Then…why aren't you with your family?"

Alistair scowled.

"Cause I dun want to spend a holiday cramped in the same place as those bastards," the readhead spat, "Anyway, Erinn's not comin' neither so I dun think Arthur was expecting me anyway."

When Frøya stayed silent he added, "'Sides, you're my little sister too and I'd much rather do family stuff with you."

Frøya smiled at him.

"So…wait," Alistair decided, "If today is Yule and Yule is Christmas then why aren't _you_ with _your_ family?"

Frøya's expression turned sour, "Because Mathias doesn't like you and Lise has to do whatever Mathias does because they have that stupid alliance. So I told them that I wouldn't spend Yule with them if I didn't get to spend it with you."

She didn't have time to look up before Alistair had pulled her into a tight bear hug.

"I love you too, lass," he muttered into her hair.

That phrase warmed her up more than any ale could.

* * *

It had been two years since Alistair's last visit and Frøya was feeling distinctly lonely.

When a boy came running to tell her that there was a ship approaching, her heart leapt with the excitement it did anytime someone came to visit her.

_Please be him, please be Alistair, please be my big brother!_

But it wasn't Alistair, she found as she ran, smiling, to the shore.

It was her sister, Lise, and Mathias.

Lise frowned when Frøya's face fell slightly.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I've just been…lonely," Frøya admitted, half-heartedly.

"Redheaded bastard not been back to bother you lately?" Mathias asked, laughing.

Frøya held in the remarks that threatened to defy the older and stronger nation.

When the Dane wrapped her in a hug she could only think that his arms weren't as comforting as a certain Scottsman's.


	5. Exploring

A/N: _Sorry if the castle's terribly inaccurate, I don't know what Scotland was like back then. _

_Basically the history I was going for (*gasp* wait, did you just suggest that there was something...historical in here?!) was that this is right before the first War of Scottish Independence where Scottish king Alexander III died and his four year old granddaughter (Seriously! FOUR YEARS OLD!) was going to be married off to some English nobleman/earl/person. It wasn't a union of Scotland and England, though, because Scotland made sure it was clear that they still kept their independence. But Margret died before her wedding day (poor thing...) and then this fight was starting between two rivals for the Scottish crown so, trying to avoid a civil war, the peoples of Scotland asked King Edward I of England for help, who was all too willing to comply. Except he had an army and Scotland didn't so the Scotts basically had to do whatever he said without fear of getting attacked. So, little by little, Edward I took things from the Scotts. _

_The Scotts eventually crowned a king (John something or other) who started making secret alliances with France who, obviously, hates England's guts. Edward I found out about this and was über pissed so he invaded Scotland. John whats-his-name retaliated, in turn, by sending his troops against the British and thus war began._

_But that last part won't happen for the next few chapters, so don't sweat it._

_Sorry if that's inaccurate. Wikipedia is a cruel mistress._

**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

"_I want to go to Alba,_ she says, _Dun care if everyone calls you Scotland now,_ she says."

"Well it's true!" Frøya exclaimed from her position at the back of the boat, "The first time you met me you told me your people called you Alba, so that's what you are! Just like my people call me Ísland."

Alistair shook his head in mock annoyance, "And why couldn't you just stay with yer people, eh?"

Frøya pouted, "Nothing ever happens in my country except earthquakes and the occasional festival. It gets boring after a while."

The Scotsman laughed.

"Trust me, lass, pleanty'll be happening when we reach my country. Never get a moment of rest, do I?" he sighed.

Just as Alistair spoke, the boat crunched up on the shore on one of his beaches.

"Here we are, Freya," Alistair smiled, "Me grand ol' island. Or, my portion of it, anyway."

The sliver haired girl leapt off the ship, excitement so evident it was almost tangible.

"This way," Alistair directed, grabbing a pale hand in his own larger one.

Frøya was grateful for the many hours she and Alistair had spent scaling her own cliffs as the redhead helped her scale one of his own.

There before them, was a fortress.

The Icelander gaped at the huge stone ramparts that surrounded the town and people inside. Little houses with thatched roofs and wooden doors. And a great castle jutted from the center of it all, tall and proud.

But the people, oh, the people! Bustling and hurrying, doing work everywhere she looked.

"There can't be that many people on my entire island!" she exclaimed, making Alistair laugh.

"Want to meet them all?" he asked.

He laughed again at her enthusiastic nod.

And then they were off, down the hill and toward the impending arch.

Soldiers greeted Alistair with respect and stared openly at the girl at their nation's side.

"Why are they looking at me that way?" she asked in confusion.

"Yer hair," he said simply.

Frøya pulled nervously at her silver locks. Was there something wrong with having silver hair?

"And them pretty eyes," Alistair continued, whispering loudly, as though sharing a secret, "They're jealous."

It worked. Frøya laughed and all nervousness about her hair color was all but nonexistent.

As they passed people, Alistair called out to them and smiled and laughed with them, like he knew every single one of them.

He probably did.

"How do you remember all these people?" Frøya asked, amazed as a woman driving a cow/yak/thing passed.

Alistair smiled at her, "They remember me, so it's only fair, in'it?"

"That makes sense," Frøya nodded.

But all thoughts of remembering people fled her mind as they entered the castle.

There were even more people inside than out, running around, carrying things, shouting at other people running just as fast and carrying twice as much.

"Why are they so busy?" Frøya asked.

Alistair had a strange look on his face.

"I dunno either," he said slowly.

It took him several tries, but he managed to attract the attention of a passing maid long enough to ask her what was going on.

"Lord Arthur is coming!" she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "He'll be arriving any moment!"

Alistair cursed under his breath.

"'Lord Arthur'?" the silver haired girl repeated.

The redhead was scowling when he answered, "My younger brother. Probably brought his bloody king again."

"Why would he bring his king?" the Icelander asked.

Alistair grabbed her hand and pulled her down several hallways.

"Cause me king just died and he wanted to marry off me princess to one o' 'is bloody nobles, but little Margret died before he could. Now he's trying to take me o'er, little by little, and it's really starting to piss me off," Alistair growled.

They entered what appeared to be a kitchen as Frøya asked, "Why does he bother talking to you if he just wants to take you over anyway?"

Alistair grabbed cloth to wrap up a loaf of bread, a cheese wedge and a flask of some sort.

"Och, Scottie, the 'Lord' is comin'," a round woman who reminded Frøya rather of a barrel told Alistair, putting a hand on her hip, "You sure you should be going out now, lad?"

Alistair laughed, "I've got a guest who's more important than me wee brother," he gestured to the girl behind him, "I'll be back in time to argue with him, dun worry."

The lady smiled kindly at the Icelander and bustled over, pushing something round and sticky into the silver haired girl's hands, "For the road, lass. Have fun."

Alistair pulled her out a door in the side and down to what appeared to be a stable.

"Who was that and why did she call you 'Scottie'?" Frøya asked as Alistair lifted her onto a big, black horse.

The Scotsman laughed, "That was Grizel, I've known her ever since she was a babe, but she still acts like my mother. And everyone here calls me Scottie. It's all they know to call me. They'll call you Innis."

"Innis?" Frøya wondered.

"Aye," Alistair said as the horse took off, runny out the gate and away from the people, "Means 'island', 's what my men called you when I first met'cha. Far as I can figure, they know you an' I 're special, but they can't understand that we're the embodiment of our people. Kinda makes yer head spin if ya think about it to long, dun'it?"

Frøya nodded.

"An' bout your question earlier, me brother's too much of a 'gentleman'," here the redhead rolled his eyes, "To just outright invade. I got no king and no army and he knows it so he's doin' things his way."

"Seems like he's teasing you," Frøya growled.

"Aye," Alistair agreed, "That he is, lass. That he is."

They didn't speak again, enjoying each other's company, until Alistair slowed the horse.

"You better put that cake away," Alistair said, nodding to the forgotten pastry in Frøya's hand, "You can have it when we eat."

The Icelander nodded and handed over the cake, smiling at her big brother as she did so.

"What're we going to do today?" Frøya asked.

Alistair grinned, "Go exploring, 'course!"

Just as he said this, the horse came to the crest of a hill and Frøya gaped.

"Y-you're…gorgeous…" she breathed.

The Scotsman swallowed the 'well, I am quite the looker' he was itching to blurt and instead opted for, "So're you."

Frøya blushed and smiled up at the redhead.

"Well then," she declared, "Let's go exploring!"


	6. England's Big Brother

A/N: _Sorry to make England the bad guy, but I have always thought he was an asshole to his siblings, Scotland and Ireland especially. They've been around way longer but he still tried/took them over! _

_Anywho, I just looked up Scottish lullabies and thought this one fit. Only, Scotland is the dad out at sea._

* * *

"You sure about this?"

"Positive, lass," Grizel said kindly, tightening the laces on the back of Frøya's dress, "You look beautiful!"

Frøya wasn't so sure.

When she and Alistair had returned the sun was starting to set and they were both covered in dirt and grass.

It was Alistair's idea to climb trees in the first place!

But Grizel had taken one look at her and whisked the Icelander up to a bedchamber.

In the last few minutes, she had been scrubbed, brushed, pulled, plated, shoved, tightened and tied more than she had ever been before. Now Frøya's long silver hair was braided with gold and slung over her shoulder, and she had been shoved into a dress that made her seriously doubt it's move ability. All thought the sleeves were kind of cool.

When the silver haired girl was deemed presentable, Frøya was allowed outside the room and met a rather disgruntled Scot in what appeared to be a-

"Don't even say it," Alistair said simply, holding up a hand before the Icelander could comment, "I know you're thinking it, but don't say it."

Frøya nodded, covering a giggle with a cough that no one bought.

They descended the stairs together, little sister and big brother arm-in-arm.

What greeted the pair was a large table laden with food, and a very angry looking man with the largest eyebrows either had ever seen.

"Alistair," he said curtly.

"Arthur," Alistair said, equally as stiff.

The blonde man's intense green gaze was refocused on Frøya.

"And who is this?" he asked, with the air of one examining something on the bottom of their boot.

The silver haired girl felt Alistair tense beside her, but he replied calmly, "This is Innis."

Frøya glanced up at the Scotsman curiously, but Alistair's silent message was clear.

_He doesn't need to know_.

Arthur snorted, "Come now, Alistair, I know she's a nation. I'm not going to bite."

The redhead clenched his teeth, "Wouldn't put it past you."

Alistair directed Frøya to a seat as far away from Arthur as the table would allow, placing himself as a barrier.

"So," Arthur cleared his throat when the awkward silence became stifling, "Alistair."

"Arthur."

This apparently hadn't been the response the Englishman had been looking for because he sniffed disdainfully.

Arthur set down his fork, directing the full intensity of his gaze on the Scotsman, "You and France have been getting rather well acquainted, haven't you?"

Alistair stiffened.

"So what if I have?" he asked, continuing to eat his food.

"You know full well that frog will do anything to get at me," Arthur scowled.

Now Alistair put down his fork as well.

"Last time I checked," the Scott growled, "I was my own country. It's no concern of yours who I talk to."

"The last time _I_ checked," Arthur said scathingly, "_My king_ was the only thing between you and a civil war."

Alistair leered at his younger brother, "This is where kindness gets you, I see. Forget all the times I held you when it was storming outside, or told you bed time stories?"

Arthur's face was slowly turning a bright red color, whether from embarrassment or anger, Frøya couldn't tell.

"Weren't much of a big brother," Arthur muttered, "Leaving for years at a time. Not a clue where you'd gone. Having to defend myself."

Frøya fought to swallow the words she wanted to shout at the blonde Brit.

"I hate you."

Alistair and Arthur both turned sharply as Frøya stood, so violently her chair fell over.

"Lass," Alistair whispered, confused.

But Frøya had had enough of it.

"Look at you now!" she shouted, pointing at Arthur.

The Brit was equally confused as Alistair.

"Look at you!" Frøya continued, "You're strong and powerful and being a down right bastard about it!"

Alistair muffled a laugh, knowing full well he'd taught her any of the number of vulgarities that were sure to come from the Icelander's mouth.

The silver haired girl kept ranting, purple eyes blazing, "If Alistair had stayed and protected you for all those years, would you ever have become what you are now?"

Arthur's mouth opened and closed, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Frøya didn't care, "Alistair is my big brother too! He leaves me alone for years and I miss him and it _hurts_ but I know he loves me and I know he'll come back, no matter how busy he is. He won't forget me. So because of that, I treasure every month, week, day or minute I get to spend with him!"

The Scott seemed a little dumbfounded at this sudden outburst, but he reached out to grab the girl's hand as tears started to build in her eyes.

"And it doesn't matter that _Bróðir_ calls Alistair a redheaded, skirt-wearing bastard when he's left me alone for a long time," Alistair almost laughed, "Because he's my big brother. He's your big brother too!" Frøya pointed an accusatory finger at Arthur, "And you can see him anytime you want! So be grateful, dammit!"

Then she ran from the dining hall, Alistair following after her, until they were in a deserted hallway.

And then she cried.

The Scot rubbed circles on her back, muttering soothing words, and started to hum a tune.

"_Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,_

_O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e_

_Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,_

_For thou art doubly dear to me._

_Thy daddie now is far awa,_

_A sailor laddie o'er the sea;_

_But hope ay hechts his safe return_

_To you my bonnie lamb an' me."_

Frøya blinked up at her big brother as Alistair rubbed the tears out of her eyes.

"Your eyes are to pretty, Freya," he told her, "Dun ruin 'em with crying."

So she laughed.

The figure that had been listening around the corner scrubbed his eyes of tears too.

Maybe that little girl had been right, Arthur thought.

But he'd be damned if Alistair ever knew.

* * *

Going home was one of the hardest things Frøya had ever done.

Grizel hugged her tight and kissed the top of her silver hair, making the Icelander promise to come back someday.

Arthur sulked by the gates as he watched the people of Alistair's castle wave good-bye to the sweet, silver-haired girl they had met just three weeks previous.

On the way back to her country, Frøya turned to Alistair.

"Can I come back someday?" she asked, "To see Grizel and the others, I mean?"

Alistair chewed his bottom lip, considering, before he smiled.

"Sure thing, lass," he told her, "I'd be happy to take ye back. Just…be careful."


	7. Thirty Two Years

A/N: _Uploading right before school. Mwahaha!_

_This basically covers the entire first war for independence (1296-1328). _

_Sorry bout the shortness!_

**Warning: Genderbending Ahead**

* * *

One stormy night, a week after Frøya's third visit to Scotland, Alistair arrived bloodied and angry.

"What's wrong?" Frøya shouted, rushing forward as the Scott collapsed on her shore.

"That bastard!" Alistair spat as he struggled to his feet, "That bastard England invaded me, not so much as a warning!"

"He…invaded you?" Frøya asked in astonishment. What would she do if Lise invaded her?

The Scot nodded, before pausing to cough.

Blood stained the hand that had covered his mouth.

Frøya looped her arms under the larger man's armpits, dragging him away from the crashing waves, "What happened?"

Alistair sighed.

"I was getting a little too friendly with France and he got paranoid," the Scotsman said remorsefully, "Attacked full force. My stupid king sent men to counter attack but he knows it's a loosing battle."

Alistair ran a hand through his red locks, "It'll take a miracle to get me out of this."

Frøya held her brother, praying everything would be all right.

He turned to her, and there was so much pain in his green eyes that Frøya thought she would drown.

"Freya," Alistair said slowly, running his fingers through her hair, he smiled, "I like your hair long."

The Icelander didn't know what to say to that, but Alistair continued for her, "I won't be able to see you now that I'm at war with my brother, but I dun wanna leave you alone without tellin' ya first."

Frøya sniffed appreciatively.

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, enjoying each other's company as much as possible, before Alistair coughed up more blood and said he had to leave.

As his red hair disappeared over the horizon, the silver haired girl on the beach let herself cry.

* * *

Thirty two years.

That's how long Alistair was at war with his brother.

Thirty two years.

During that time, Grizel died.

Frøya didn't even get to go to her funeral.

Thirty two years.

The Icelander reached Alistair's shoulder.

Of course, she didn't know this until she saw him again.

Thirty two years.

Alistair looked rougher than ever, and there was a little more pain and a little less light in his eyes.

Thirty two years.

Mathias and Lise grew closer and Frøya suspected they would make a kingdom of some sort in the near century.

Thirty two years.

Frøya cried more than her share of tears.

Alistair bled more than his share of lives.

Thirty two years.

* * *

"Alistair! _Alistair_!"

The Scotsman turned sharply to find a mass of silver and purple hurtling towards him.

"Whoa there, lass," he smiled, turning.

Frøya was taller now, her hair longer.

"Look at ye," the red head smiled, "More like a woman every time I see ye."

The Icelander refused to let go of his midsection, so Alistair laughed and hugged her back.

"It's okay, lass. It's over," Alistiar reassured her.

_For now._


End file.
